Beginning at the End
by GryffindorGirl
Summary: The end of the crew's 7th year. D/H shipper. My first HP fic so please R/R!
1. The Viewing Gift

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, the setting, and some parts of the plot.

Chapter One:

The Viewing Gift

As the bell ending the Seventh Years' last Transfiguration class ever rang, Professor McGonagall was still talking over the zipping of bags and the rushing to hand in final exams. 

"Now remember, your Seventh Year Depositions are to be presented in front of the faculty one week from today.  Your presentation times will be drawn at random tomorrow and you will receive them at the Graduation Feast tomorrow evening in the Great Hall.  If any of my students still need help I'll be available for last minute consultations during –"

The door to the classroom slammed, and Professor McGonagall jumped and looked up from her empty planner to an empty room. _Well,_ she thought. _I suppose that might be good. At least it doesn't look like they're behind schedule._

The Seventh Years' Depositions were a tradition at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Every Seventh Year student was required to write and present a paper on a political or historical aspect of the magical world.  The student's Depositions and N.E.W.T. scores were examined by the faculty at Hogwarts for final grades, and then sent on to the Ministry of Magic, who decided whether or not to license the student as a qualified witch or wizard.  More or less, students from Hogwarts were licensed.  As she left her classroom for lunch, Professor McGonagall could only recall one instance in recent history in which a student who had passed at Hogwarts had been denied license by the ministry.  She smiled sympathetically at the pitiful Mr. Filch as she passed him in the hallway and winked at his cat, Mrs. Norris. 

********** * **********

Harry Potter sipped thoughtfully at his pumpkin juice as he listened to Ron vent about his Deposition.  "I didn't even realize that was in a week! What with Quidditch practice and all, I've just been so busy..."

Harry smiled inconspicuously to himself.  Ron wasn't even on the Quidditch team.  During their sixth year, the team had decided to make Ron an honorary "Team Manager" since he came to all the practices anyway, and he did get to play in a game once during fifth year when Gryffindor's new beater, a stocky third year named Marcus Williams, was injured by a bludger, but that was about all the action Ron saw on the Quidditch field.  

"Merlin, have mercy, Ron! It's only two rolls of parchment? Oh but Dumbledore said it had to be at _least_ five, and you've only got a week left!" Hermione was almost as frenzied about Ron's paper as Ron himself. "I'll help you," she finally resolved.  "I finished my Deposition last month. All I have to do now is cut it down so I can fit my speech into twenty minutes."

Ron stared at her with disgust. "Last month? That's just bloody ridiculous!" The redhead shoveled another spoonful of Magically Mashed Potatoes into his mouth before turning his attention to Harry, who until this point had been amused just watching the two of them banter.  It had become a favorite past time of his. "Are you finished with yours, Harry?"

Harry, unlike Ron, waited to swallow his food before he spoke.  "Almost," he answered.  "I still have to write my conclusion."

Ron, seeing that he was alone in his peril, gulped. "How many rolls of parchment is it?" he asked quietly.

"I'm on my sixth right now."

"Ah, six rolls? Merlin!" Ron exclaimed. "I picked a bad topic. There's just not that much to say about Quidditch, unless I copied straight from _Quidditch Through The Ages_."

"Ron!" Hermione gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"No, I wouldn't," Ron replied exasperatedly. "Which is why I'm going to fail this stupid paper!"

"Failing your paper, Weasel? It's hardly a surprise." The aristocratic snarl came from behind Ron and Hermione, but Harry didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Why don't you mind your own business, Malfoy, you bloody b – "

"Ron," Hermione warned.

"What, Mudblood? Don't think he could handle insulting me?" Draco's eyes twinkled evilly as he slurred at Hermione. "Just let him try. Once, before he's denied his license and gets his wand blasted apart by the Ministry. He'll never see me again after that, will he? Probably go and live with the Muggles." He looked pointedly back and forth between Hermione and Ron before turning to pass the table with his goon-like bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, but Harry stopped him.

"And what's your paper called, Malfoy? _How to Become a Death-Eater in One Easy Lesson_?"

Draco turned back, and to Harry's surprise, he smiled. "You just wait, Potter. I think you'll be quite, er – _shocked_ – at the topic of my paper." With that, the three Slytherins strolled away, Draco smirking undeniably to himself while Crabbe and Goyle grunted their laughs behind him.

********** * ********** 

The week went by quicker than any of the Seventh Years had thought it would.  It was Tuesday night and Harry was in the Gryffindor common room playing Seamus Finnigan in Wizard's Chess in an attempt to relax before presenting his Deposition on Unforgivable Curses.  They had fascinated him since his fourth year when he learned that his parents were killed by one – _Avada Kedavra – _that he survived, and since he'd seen two of them in action during the Triwizard Tournament.  His Depositions was to discuss his position that he didn't believe they should be taught – or even discussed – in schools because of the danger they posed to the magical community.  He was zoning out and thinking about his parents and Cedric Diggory (another boy that had been killed by Avada Kedavra) when he heard Seamus' voice echoing through his thoughts.

"Uh, Harry? Harry, it's your turn. HARRY!" 

"Oh, right." Harry jumped at the sound of his voice and blinked furiously. "Sorry, Seamus." He glanced down at the board for no more than a few seconds and commanded his one remaining knight to move.  The knight glanced back up at Harry, shook his fist, shouted a few unkind words, and maneuvered grudgingly to his death.  Harry, in turn, slapped his forehead hard and mumbled a cringing "Sorry" to the broken pieces.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Seamus was asking. "I've never won at chess before. Something must be wrong." When Harry didn't respond, Seamus looked back down at the board, took Harry's knight, and his eyes got wide. "I don't believe it," he said quietly, returning his wide-eyed stare to Harry. "Check mate. I've just beaten you at chess. Bloody hell."

Harry didn't even look up. _For the love of Merlin, _he told himself; _you've just lost to Seamus. Get a hold on yourself, man!_

"You aren't worried about your Deposition, are you?" Seamus asked him a few moments later when his shock at winning had died down. 

"What? Oh, yeah. A little," Harry lied.  His Deposition was the last thing he was worried about.  He could recite his speech while riding backwards and upside down on a broomstick with the snitch fluttering around in his pants – on a Comet series broomstick at that!  No, it was something else. 

He let his eyes wander around the Gryffindor common room.  In a few days, it would all be gone.  He would no longer have a place to live in the wizarding world, he would no longer have a place to be with his friends, no more Transfiguration lessons, or DADA...Hell, he might even miss Potions and that horrid Professor Snape.

Harry's eyes stopped at Ron and Hermione who were lazing cozily by the fire.  Hermione had her head in Ron's lap as she read a book and Ron was just stroking her hair.  Even though they weren't officially a couple, seeing them together made Harry lonely.  He knew they were in love and that one day they'd admit it to themselves – and maybe even each other – but he himself still had no one.  Well, sort of.

"Seamus, I'll see you later, all right?" He found himself saying suddenly. "I'm gonna go over my speech a few more times, just to be sure, you know..." But Seamus wasn't listening.  He was already setting up another game of Wizard's Chess with Neville Longbottom.  _He might be able to win again,_ Harry smiled to himself.

He climbed the stairs to the Seventh Year dorm rooms quietly, trying not to attract attention, and shut himself into it when he finally got to the top.  He glanced around for a bit, making sure that no one else was around, and then finally reached into his trunk.  When his hand emerged, he was holding a balled up pair of socks which held a small round lump.  He pulled the lump out carefully, but soon shoved it back into his trunk when he realized it was only his Sneakoscope. _Why do I still carry that around?_ he mumbled to himself, reaching for another pair of balled up socks.  Finally, his hand curled around what he was looking for.  

He held he small, cloudy-looking glass ball in his hand at sat down on his bed.  This was one of his most secret and valued possessions.  Not even Ron or Hermione knew about it.  It was called a Viewing Gift because that's exactly what it was.  It had to be a gift for it to work right, because the only thing its sole power was showing the gift's giver to the receiver, wherever he or she may be, without the giver knowing about it.  Harry stared into his precious gift for a moment, then finally, with a flourish of his wand, muttered, "_Compare datoris!_" 


	2. Secretly Watching

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, the setting, and some parts of the plot.  
  
  
  
Chapter Two: Secretly Watching  
  
"Compare datoris!"  
  
At Harry's command, the small glass ball he held in his hand suddenly sprang to life. A tiny little explosion took place inside of it in which a mass of glittering dust popped silently out of nowhere and sprinkled itself throughout the sphere. Over a few seconds time, the dust had settled to form a picture of a person, and Harry squinted in at the subject as the last shining white sparkles were added to the figure's head.  
  
Harry sighed. Draco Malfoy – the man that could turn him upside down and inside out with a simple glint of his misinterpreted-as-evil eyes. He was Harry's Giver, the Viewing Gift's star player, the lover Harry just couldn't hate.  
  
Presently, Draco was looking as gorgeous as ever, his deep gray eyes turned toward the night sky and a thoughtful expression on his face. He sat alone at a window in his dormitory, leaning back in a chair with one boot-clad foot on the windowsill. His black school robe was donned, yet undone, and Harry could see he was still wearing his uniform, though his green and silver Slytherin necktie hung haphazardly loosened about his neck. Harry was in the middle of admiring the way the moonlight reflected on Draco's white-blond hair when the other young wizard turned suddenly from the window and stood. He began speaking animatedly to someone Harry couldn't see.  
  
"Amplifica," Harry commanded. He waited as the Viewing Gift zoomed out and gave him a wider view of the room. Not to his surprise, the intruders that had marred Draco's moment of introspective, unsuspecting beauty were none other than Crabbe and Goyle. What did surprise him was that the two goons seemed to be having an argument with Draco – something they never did in public. Whatever Draco wanted, Crabbe and Goyle did. His wish was their command. But somehow their relationship didn't seem quite as totalitarian behind the scenes.  
  
Gripped by the new development in the tiny world he held in his hands, Harry studied the scene before him intensely. Goyle and Crabbe were now waving pieces of parchment at Draco, who in turn snatched his own piece from a nightstand. He gestured wildly with it for a moment before crumpling it up and throwing it in the wastebasket, which seemed to anger his bodyguards immensely. However, before they were able to express their anger physically (one of their only talents), the crumpled parchment jumped from the trash can and flattened itself, this time positioning itself on Draco's bed. This amused Crabbe and Goyle and seemed to soothe them for a moment before the other boy, now visibly enraged, pointed his wand at the paper and everyone (Harry, Draco, and the goons) watched it spontaneously combust.  
  
Harry's emerald eyes were wide with disbelief and curiosity, and he would have loved to watch more of the escalating fight that was taking place in the palm of his hand, but the door to the Seventh Years' room chose that very instant to open and reveal a very winded Neville Longbottom. "Conspectu fugere," he muttered quickly, then slipped the Viewing Gift into his nearby pillowcase.  
  
Fortunately, Neville didn't notice Harry's hasty concealment; he was much too excited over something else. "Harry! Harry you won't believe it!" he panted.  
  
"What? What is it Neville?" Harry jumped up from the bed and grabbed his wand, ready to bolt for the downstairs common room and fight to the death. His breath came short in the excitement, but he managed to choke out another, "Neville! What in the bloody hell..."  
  
"I've won at Wizard's Chess, Harry!" Neville exclaimed. "I just beat Seamus!"  
  
Neville was positively glowing with pride, but Harry just blinked. "Oh!" he finally responded. "Well that's wonderful, Neville. Congratulations!" He hoped he sounded enthusiastic on the outside; inside he was thinking about nothing but the argument between Draco and his goons.  
  
"Something bothering you, Harry?" Neville's voice suddenly cut through his thoughts and Harry realized he was frowning.  
  
"Oh, no. Just thinking..." he began. "Seamus beat me earlier. If you look at it right, then you've beaten me, too."  
  
Neville's eyes only brightened and he nearly squealed with delight. "I've got to go downstairs and tell the others!"  
  
********** * **********  
  
It was around half past nine when Harry met Ron on the steps to the dormitory.  
  
"Don't tell me you're going out this late," Ron said, staring incredulously at his descending friend.  
  
"Don't tell me you're going to bed this early," Harry said at the same time.  
  
Ron blushed and managed to answer first. "Well we have our Deposition presentations tomorrow, you know," he started. "Thought a good night's sleep..." he trailed off softly and looked at his feet.  
  
Harry grinned. "Hermione's really done a number on you, you know that?" was his only comment before he continued down the stairs.  
  
"Harry," he heard Ron call after him with a deep sigh. "Where are you going anyway? If McGonagall catches you out she – "  
  
"McGonagall can't touch us, Ron. The graduation feast was last week, remember?" Harry never faltered or looked back, and soon his figure had disappeared from his friend's view.  
  
He strolled nonchalantly through the Gryffindor common room and out the fat lady's portrait. The corridor was deserted at this hour the day before Depositions, but Harry donned the Invisibility Cloak he had hidden under his robe anyway – just in case.  
  
The cloak was like his security blanket. He loved everything about it – how the weight of it disappeared once you put it on, its beautiful colors when it was visible, the fact that it was his fathers, and of course the fact that when he wore it, he could go anywhere he pleased. As he crept stealthily down the corridors he knew so well, Harry found himself suddenly plagued by an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. Lately he had found himself becoming more and more aware of the memories he would be leaving behind at Hogwarts when the summer holidays came. His adventures with the Invisibility Cloak were only a few of the pieces of his life that he would miss the most.  
  
As he rounded a corner, his reminiscent attitude was interrupted by the sound of nearby voices – angry voices. Harry stopped for a moment to listen, but couldn't hear the words from his position, so he continued down the hallway until he was standing outside the door to the dungeons, still invisible. The voices were coming up the stairs and becoming clearer. He could now understand patches of the conversation that was rising to meet him outside the dungeon door.  
  
"What would your father say if he knew what went on tonight?... -- ...You have an obligation!... -- ...Snape can't get you out of this one... -- ...You're honestly willing to defy him?... -- ...And you call yourself a Slytherin!..."  
  
It was at this point that the dungeon door swung open and a steaming Draco Malfoy stepped out. Crabbe and Goyle were behind him, the owners of the sneering voices, and Draco whirled to stop them as they attempted to step out from the dungeons. However angry they might have been with Draco Malfoy at the moment, it seemed that years of faithful service had trained them not to argue with him when he gave orders.  
  
"You two," the blond wizard hissed, "don't know what you're getting yourselves into. If you're smart – " (Here Draco gave a small laugh.) "If you're smart, you'll do what I do. You won't involve yourselves in this. You'll put that letter of yours in a drawer and let it sit and rot like the trash that it is."  
  
"How dare you speak ill of – "  
  
"Crabbe, shut your bloody mouth and don't talk about things you don't understand!" Draco interrupted. His voice was not more than a whisper but the command was louder than Harry had ever heard it. "Now, I'm going to the library to find a way to destroy this." He held up a piece of parchment that had been clutched in his hand, overlooked by Harry. "You can either come with me and help, or you can go back to the dorm and keep your filthy selves away from me from now on." With that, he spun on his heel and headed down the corridor, obvioiusly with no fear or regard for any teachers that might be prowling the corridors late at night.  
  
Harry dawdled for a moment, waiting for the goons' reactions, but turned to follow Draco when the two finished mumbling to each other and returned to the dungeons. He walked briskly behind Draco's flowing robes and tried to make sense of what had just happened. For one thing, he had never heard Crabbe and Goyle speak intelligently about anything, nor had he seen or heard them argue with the infamous Mr. Malfoy. But more pressing than those two details was the piece of parchment held in Draco's hand. They had said it was a letter, but who was it from? And why couldn't it be destroyed?  
  
For the second time that night, Harry Potter found himself secretly watching Draco Malfoy. 


End file.
